Did he really want to talk?
The warmth in his eyes was genuine, so she went to him. Was there a way through her initial bad feeling against brujos? Could she learn to see Val as his own man and not constantly hear her mother’s bitter ranting about brujos echoing in the back of her mind? After all, she didn’t get along that great with her mother….
He drew her beside him and cradled her in the crook of his arm. “See? There’s plenty of room on this couch for both of us.”
She pressed her cheek against his chest, smelling the faintest hint of musk.
He lifted her face to his and kissed her lips. “Are you scared?”
“To kiss you? No.”
“I meant about tomorrow.”
Was she scared? Oddly, she had no fear for her own safety. “I’m scared my wacko style of magic might hurt someone else. I live in dread of it, actually.”
Smoothing her hair with his palm, he drew her closer. “Why?”
“Why? Gosh, you don’t know me very well. The enchantment community of San Buena knows me as ‘batshit wacky Estele.’ The few people who actually like me call me ‘Estele I-meant-to-do-well Esposito.’”
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.” His voice was rich and reverberated deep in his chest like the purr of a lion.
“I’m not. Trust me, I’ve earned my bad rep.”
“But you’re so powerful. You sent the smoke beast fleeing. When did all this start?”
Val thought she was powerful? Burrowing her face against his chest, she smiled. “When did what start?”
He said it slowly as if he were a head juror pronouncing a final verdict in court. “Your iffy relationship to your own magical powers.”
Was he kidding? “I was born into it. The Esposito witches are walking disasters waiting to happen.”
His arms locked around her as if he feared she might flee. “I’m not asking about your family, I’m asking about you.”
She paused. Was there a difference? Her life had been defined by cautionary tales, such as the one about her great-aunt Gerty screwing up morale spells during the Great Depression, thus making it even more depressing. Even her own mother had eagerly pointed out her smallest mistakes from the youngest age as proof their bloodline was cursed. “I’ve always had an iffy relationship with magic. My mother told me it’s because I was born of bad blood.”
He shook his head. “Bad blood? What does that even mean?”
“You know, I’m the unfortunate offspring of a floundering Esposito witch and a—pardon me for using my mother’s own words—‘deadbeat brujo father.’ Not a stellar pedigree.”
“Do you have any sort of relationship with your father?”
Estele flopped onto her back. “No! It was just like those terrible hard-luck stories you hear all the time. He went to the store to buy milk and never returned. I don’t even remember the guy. Granted, my mother is hard to live with, but he was a total bastard for just leaving us and never saying anything.”
Val tenderly kissed her cheek and then the tip of her nose. His touch was gentle and conveyed so much. “I’m so sorry. I can imagine that not having a father left a big hole in your life.”
A freaking bottomless pit was more like it. If her father had stayed and her mother hadn’t been so bitter, would she be a better person, more grounded and less dangerous to the general public? Probably. What would it have been like to grow up with a trustworthy man in her life who she could have leaned on and learned from? Lying beside Val, her heart ached in a strange way, as if she’d never felt it stretched so far. Why couldn’t she be someone worth loving and coming back for? It physically hurt to even breathe, so she remained silent as the moments ticked past.
“Are you okay?” He sounded concerned. “You got pretty quiet.”
Did she even want to talk about it? Could she open up to Val and tell him the truth without scaring him away and making herself look even more damaged? It hadn’t worked with anyone else. Maybe she was deluding herself into believing Val might be something special.
Oh, what the hell, she’d never know unless she tried. “When I was little, especially on a birthday or holiday, I’d play a game with myself. I’d look at the door and say, ‘Any minute now, Dad’s walking through that door, and when he does, he’s going to bring me all kinds of gifts. He’s going to tell me he loves me, he’s going to make up with my mother, and it’s going to be okay. We’re going to have enough for rent and we’re going to stop fighting because Mom won’t be unhappy anymore. Like magic, everything will get better.’ He was the missing piece of my childhood and the reason why my mom and I fought so much. At least that’s what I thought when I was a kid. Later, in my teens, when my magical powers got out of control, my mother tried to shut them down with terse comments about how ‘strong’ and ‘arrogant’ my style of magic was becoming. She’d shame me by saying I was beginning to behave just like my dad.”
He drew a tense breath. “And you don’t trust your father, yourself, your mother, or the strength of your own powers? I think I’m beginning to understand the issues here. So, who do you trust?” His voice tensed and he sounded more affected by her story than she was.
It had been so long since she’d told anyone this much about her. Tears welled in her eyes. She wiped her sleeve against her lashes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be ugly crying in no time. “I trust my best friend, Fredi. She’s a crazy-talented witch and I wish she was my real sister. Without meaning to, I’ve done bad things to her, but she forgave me.”
“What bad-d—” He seemed to stumble over his words. “—bad things did you do to her?”
“I cast some bad magic. But we got past it.”
“Is she all right?”
“Yes. My spell didn’t last more than a few hours. In the end it worked out well. Fredi met her boyfriend, Gus, while under the enchantment I cast, so there was a silver lining.”
He stroked her arm with a broad, warm hand. “Who else do you trust?”
“Miss Dahlia, at the Master Mage Magic Academy, is super patient with me. I make a lot of mistakes and she helps me plow through the solutions one at a time. She’s a practical witch, very hands-on. I also trust Witch Griselda. She’s ancient, and a bit doddering, but she still has it! She’s a freaking force of nature. Oh, you’ll like this! Way back when, she dated a brujo.”
“Really?” He couldn’t hide his excitement at hearing about a fellow brujo. “How did that work out for her?”
“Grissy said she was nuts about him, even hoped to marry him, but it didn’t happen. Old Griselda didn’t say so, but I got a big psychic hit that her old beau died in the Mexican Revolution. I don’t think she ever found anyone else she loved as much.”
He pulled her close to his chest. “So not everyone in the San Buena enchantment community is antibrujo?”
“Far from it. I don’t want to be anti-anyone. I’m sorry I was so rude to you earlier tonight. ‘Brujo’ is a trigger word for me, and now you know why I was so reluctant to work with one.”
He kissed the top of her head. “We’re talking and things are better. All is forgiven. Besides, you don’t have to work with me forever. We just have to get along until the bubble of malevolence is under control.”
Even though they had just met, the thought that all this, the closeness, the candidness, was just a temporary thing stung. In her heart of hearts, she could see herself falling for Val big-time. “When we’re finished doing whatever it is we need to do, what’s next? Where will you go after this?”
“I have no idea. I suppose fate will guide me where I need to go.”
Maybe brujos were like tomcats, born to wander through life acting like nobody owned them. “Have taco truck, will travel?”
He laughed. “Something like that.”
“Your food’s really good, and I’ll bet you’re an excellent brujo.”
“Thank you.” He held her closer. The look in his eyes was pure tenderness. “Estele.”
“Yes.�
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“Do you know who else you can trust?”
“Who?”
“Me.” His gaze sought hers. “You can trust me. I won’t let you down. I have your back. I’d die before abandoning my ally in battle.”
She brushed her fingertips along the gritty stubble on his jaw. “I wouldn’t expect you to die for me.”
His face remained calm and looked completely sincere. “But I would, if it served the situation best. As your protector, I’m pledged to do it.”
“Brujos are an intense bunch, aren’t you?” Leaning closer, she kissed his lips. The first touch barely made contact. It was more of a warm breath skimming his lips than a kiss. The second was bolder; her mouth caressed his and heat bloomed between them. Her breasts brushed his chest and she melted against him.
Val pulled away. “Estele, if we start, I won’t want to stop.”
Her voice dropped to a provocative whisper. “Why would we need to stop?”
He looked into her eyes. “Because we just met and I need to focus on keeping you safe while we battle or neutralize whatever it is that we’ll be facing at the fairgrounds in a few hours.”
Had she badly misunderstood his intentions? Was he gently but firmly letting her down. Her mouth went dry.
“Don’t think I’m not tempted.” He grazed his fingertips against her cheek and his brows sank into a more serious expression. “I am, but I’m not a fool either. I think you’re someone special and worth waiting for.”
Did he mean it, or was he just more polite than some of the other guys who had used her once and then let her down? Reaching for one of the comforters, she sat. “Should I sleep on the small couch and give you a little room?” As she scooted away, she longed to be back in his arms.
“I’ll sleep beside you!” Captain Manx materialized in the exact spot Estele had been lying in, curled up like a kitten against Val’s chest. “I’m terrified of the creature’s return.”
“Oh no!” Val turned over and faced the couch.
She rolled her eyes. Of course the captain had been hanging around, listening to everything and waiting to take her spot beside Val. What had led her to believe she’d be allowed a little privacy in her own home?
Clutching a comforter, she moved to the foot of the L. “I’d say good night to everybody, but I don’t think we’re going to get much sleep.”
Soon the Captain and Val were softly snoring. With her purse strap wrapped around her wrist and the Heart of Hecate securely zipped inside, she lay awake staring up at the ceiling and watched a slice of moonlight cross the room.
Chapter 10
Estele woke with a strong hand on her arm, gently shaking her. The purse that was wrapped around her wrists shifted, and she drew it protectively against her chest and held it like a precious newborn. Under no circumstances could she lose the Heart of Hecate that Witch Griselda had solemnly entrusted to her.
“Estele,” Val whispered. “We have to get going.”
Her eyes felt like they’d been glued shut with sleepy sand, but she pried them open. “Am I dreaming, or do I smell coffee?”
“I’m brewing it now.” He smiled, and his eyes fanned in an attractive way.
Rising on her elbows, she glanced out the window. The ocean and sky were dark and almost blended into one another. The lights at the fairgrounds blazed bright. “What time is it? Did we sleep at all, or oversleep an entire day? What’s going on?”
“It’s 4:25 a.m. You slept a little. I heard you. I had the captain snuggling with me, so I didn’t sleep much. How do you take your coffee?”
“So sweet.” She gazed into his lustrous brown eyes. Someone had made her coffee? How wonderful was that? That sort of thing never happened with the guys she usually dated.
He rose and walked into the kitchen. “I’m just trying to soften the blow of an early morning wake-up call.” Opening a cupboard, he removed two mugs, picked up the coffeepot, filled each, and added a couple heaping spoonfuls of sugar to her cup.
Estele winced when she saw how much sugar Val stirred into her coffee. She liked her coffee black, straight-up. When she’d said “sweet,” she’d meant “How sweet that you made me coffee.” Oh well, she’d drink it anyway. When would she learn to be more precise with her words?
He handed the sugary mug to her. “We can get breakfast off the truck. Are you okay with burritos?”
“Burritos are great.” She thought the words through. This time, had she said something wrong or anything that could possibly be misconstrued or cause magic to go awry? No, she had not. She sipped the coffee, then stopped. It was syrupy. She tried not to frown as she rose from the couch and walked into the kitchen. “I think I’m going to dilute this a little.”
Val paced around the apartment, gathering things he needed for the day and sipping his coffee. He was already dressed in dark cargo jeans and a hoodie, but even in such casual clothing he still looked as sleek as a black jaguar. He glanced at her. “Pack a bag for the day. Bring anything you think you’ll need. We might not make it back.”
“Might not make it back? That sounds ominous.”
Setting his coffee mug on the countertop, he stopped pacing. “Estele, we don’t know exactly what we’ll be facing down there, but from what we’ve already seen, expect it to be big. Once we’re engaged in battle, there’s no retreat and no time-outs. Bring your entire magic kit, potions, Wiccan charms, a change of clothes, and a phone charger—whatever you need to get the job done. You’re this team’s heavy hitter and I’m here to help you.”
Suffering Circe, this was staring to get a little scary.
Val stepped closer and his hand brushed her cheek. “You look overwhelmed. Don’t be.” He tugged on his sleeve and pointed to his pinup girl tattoo. “Remember, fate’s picked you as our best champion against evil, and I’m here to support you. You’re not walking into this alone.”
“You seem to have so much faith in me.” Inside, she cringed. How many times had she cast a spell only to watch it swerve into a ditch and implode? “What if I can’t deliver and the bubble of malevolence pops and kills innocent people? What then? If I let others down, I won’t be able to live with myself.”
He picked up his coffee mug and drained it. “If you don’t try, you won’t be able to live with yourself either.” Gathering his culinary knives, he carefully slipped the cutlery into their proper leather slots, rolled the kit up, and placed it in his duffel bag.
“Are we bringing knives to a gunfight? I’m not feeling the least bit prepared for this.”
“This isn’t a gunfight, it’s a firefight—a Wiccan-fire fight. The bubble of malevolence can’t be shot, stabbed, or chased away with a warning. Real action is going to have to be taken. From what you’ve told me, your style of magic is very unpredictable. From what I’ve seen, you are also very powerful. That’s a potent combination. I think whatever is lurking down there in the fairgrounds should be afraid of you.”
Wow, could that all be true? And he looked like such a sexy mutha when he said it. “Really? You think so?”
A bright smile lit his face. “Yes, really.” With a shooing motion, he pointed her toward her room. “Get ready. We should leave in ten minutes.”
Still high on his praise and clutching her coffee mug, she careened toward her bedroom. “Wish I knew what I needed to battle a bubble of malevolence.”
“I would start with casual clothes and shoes you can walk—preferably run—in. Magical tools, crystals, wands, philters—whatever helps you focus—and bring the ruby. The smoke beast seems obsessed with it.”
A shiver traveled over her skin. There was no way she would leave the stone behind or even let it out of her sight, but was she being a fool to blindly trust Val’s judgment? His intentions were good, but could they be hand-delivering the Heart of Hecate to Goddess-knew-what was waiting for her at the Oceanside fairgrounds? A sense of paranoia gnawed at her. “You’re not even supposed to know about the ruby.”
“But I do.” His gaze narrowed.
“What’s wrong? You’re looking at me like I grew a third eye.”
“Nothing.” She entered her bedroom and shut the door. The moment she was alone, she unzipped the purse and looked inside. The ruby was safe, sitting in a change pocket. Compared to yesterday, its glow was faint, as if it were resting or conserving energy. She reached into her purse and petted the stone. “Good morning. I’m happy to see you.” A burst of crimson lit the interior of her purse. “Nice stone.” She stroked it like a cat. “We’re going to have a great day, aren’t we?” “How are you doing in there?” Val’s voice floated through the door. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“I’ll just be a few minutes.” What the hell did one wear to do battle with evil? Staring at her closet and chest of drawers, she drew a blank until the stone sent a telepathic suggestion: combat boots. She reached for her Doc Martins. “That makes sense.”
“What makes sense?” Val sounded confused.
“Never mind. I’m just talking to myself and a rock.”
“Okay.” He still sounded confused. “I’ll start loading the car, all right?”
“Good idea.” She turned toward her dresser and starting flinging drawers open.
Captain Manx materialized beside her. “Where are we going, miss?”
She flinched. “Not ‘we’—me. I’m headed someplace that you won’t want to go—to the fairgrounds.”
The captain appeared crestfallen. “The fairgrounds?” He bit his lip. “I suppose the hearty young lad is going with you?”
“Yes, we have to go. I’m sure you’ve eavesdropped on us enough to know why.”
“I do know, and I wish to accompany you. Who knows, against all odds I might be of use.”
“Captain, I’m not sure what you could do except haunt the rides and startle mortals, and I have a bad feeling enough of that will be going on already. Besides, the fairgrounds are built on what used to be San Buena’s docks.”
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